Issue 1 Available to Order NOW!

And as mentioned in the post with this week’s comic, there are some special offers for the first 30 orders:

10 signed copies with a FREE oversized-postcard print of page 25 of Issue 1, and a FREE set of 5 Stray Sod buttons

10 signed copies with a FREE set of 5 Stray Sod buttons

10 signed copies with a FREE oversized-postcard print of page 25 of Issue 1

When I was a little girl, I had an electric typewriter. Using any available white paper I could find–printer paper, recycled printer paper already printed on one side, three-hole-punch paper as thin as toilet tissue–I would type out a ten page “chapter book” (with interior illustrations), put a piece of construction paper on the front and back, draw on the cover, and staple it all together. To me, this was a “published book.” And even then, I knew it wasn’t really “published”, like the books from the book store. But a child also imagines they are a unicorn with rainbow wings galloping through an enchanted pasture, even as they know that in reality, they are just a kid running very awkwardly through a mosquito-ridden soccer field. Their imagination is almost as good as reality. Almost.

I think that’s why holding Stray Sod Issue #1 in my hands is both startling, and not. Back then, I never would have imagined drawing and coloring pages on a computer and sending them invisibly to a printer on the opposite end of North America, to eventually receive boxes full of books containing my work that look just like the books at the comic book store. It’s an enormous leap from typewritten pages and construction-paper covers. And yet, it doesn’t feel like that much of a stretch at all. Maybe it’s because the process has been unmasked. Maybe it’s because staples are still what holds my book together.

So as I released the comic book to “available” status on my store late last night, I had this lump of exhilarated terror in my throat. And yet when friends and family express amazement over it, my internal reaction is something like, ‘What? It’s still only me, drawing and typing away at my desk.’ Nothing mystifying, romantic, or even all that sophisticated. Sure, the tools are a lot more expensive, and someone else did the book-making. But it feels the same as it did as a kid.